GERARD. Thank, thanks, my lord! [Goes.] TRESHAM [paces the room. After a pause]. Oh, thoughts absurd!--as with some monstrous fact Which, when ill thoughts beset us, seems to give Merciful God that made the sun and stars, The waters and the green delights of earth, The lie! I apprehend the monstrous fact-- Yet know the maker of all worlds is good, And yield my reason up, inadequate To reconcile what yet I do behold-- Blasting my sense! There's cheerful day outside: This is my library, and this the chair My father used to sit in carelessly After his soldier-fashion, while I stood Between his knees to question him: and here Gerard our grey retainer,--as he says, Fed with our food, from sire to son, an age,-- Has told a story--I am to believe! That Mildred... oh, no, no! both tales are true, Her pure cheek's story and the forester's! Would she, or could she, err--much less, confound All guilts of treachery, of craft, of... Heaven Keep me within its hand!--I will sit here Until thought settle and I see my course. Avert, oh God, only this woe from me! [As he sinks his head between his arms on the table, GUENDOLEN'S voice is heard at the door.] Lord Tresham! [She knocks.] Is Lord Tresham there? [TRESHAM, hastily turning, pulls down the first book above him and opens it.] TRESHAM. Come in! [She enters.] Ha, Guendolen!--good morning. GUENDOLEN. Nothing more? TRESHAM. What should I say more? GUENDOLEN. Pleasant question! more? This more. Did I besiege poor Mildred's brain Last night till close on morning with "the Earl," "The Earl"--whose worth did I asseverate Till I am very fain to hope that... Thorold, What is all this? You are not well! TRESHAM. Who, I? You laugh at me. GUENDOLEN. Has what I'm fain to hope, Arrived then? Does that huge tome show some blot In the Earl's 'scutcheon come no longer back Than Arthur's time? TRESHAM. When left you Mildred's chamber? GUENDOLEN. Oh, late enough, I told you! The main thing To ask is, how I left her chamber,--sure, Content yourself, she'll grant this paragon Of Earls no such ungracious... TRESHAM. Send her here! GUENDOLEN. Thorold? TRESHAM. I mean--acquaint her, Guendolen, --But mildly! GUENDOLEN. Mildly?